


Guardian Angel

by oo0_oo0



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Gangsters, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, POV Jean Kirstein, POV Marco Bott, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 03:26:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oo0_oo0/pseuds/oo0_oo0
Summary: Surly gangster Jean meets wealthy fashion designer Marco, with a dark side. Who is this gentle, freckled cutie who seems too willing to be caught up in the fray of street life?





	Guardian Angel

My head was throbbing as I walked out of Rosie. The new DJ favoured a particular mix loud trap and dense metal set on loop. I missed a step walking down the steps, and barely managed to steady myself on the handrail that looked so bent and rusted I was surprised it even held my weight. I must have been drunker than I thought. The night air was freezing. As I turned the corner onto a poorly-lit side street, I immediately regretted my decision to ask Ymir not to pick me up at the end of the night and send her home early. I was hardly dressed for the weather or the neighborhood in my form-fitting blue suede coat and ridiculously thin leather skinny pants – much too eye-catching once I stepped out of the glow of pink light cast by Rosie’s loud signboard. I was fishing my phone out of my coat pocket and debating internally if it would be worth standing in the cold for a few minutes while I called for a cab when I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, and then the cold sensation of metal against my neck. If I wasn’t so inebriated, I might have been more fearful, but with the pleasant buzz of alcohol still coursing through my veins, I felt foolhardy. The pair of strong hands on my shoulders spun me around and shoved me forcefully against a brick wall. I felt a wave of dizziness from the sudden motion, and when my vision focused again I was looking at, or rather looking down at the small figure of a wiry man wearing all black. He looked at me from behind dark bangs falling over his forehead, and said evenly, “your wallet and phone” He was now holding a knife squarely under my chin. I could feel the sharp pressure of its point, poised to slit downwards towards my throat. I took out my wallet and phone and handed them over. He slipped them into his duffle bag. “Then your coat,” he said. He was in luck. I was wearing a Valentino suede coat that was worth much more than my phone and wallet combined. “It’s too cold,” I said flatly. He glared at me, then let out a sigh of frustration as his phone began to vibrate. “What do you want?” he asked curtly as he answered the phone. He gestured over his shoulder, and a man I had not noticed before appeared. He was taller, about my own height, and wore a hoodie under a jean jacket. “Finish this off,” the smaller man said as he turned away to continue the phone call in brisk tones. 

The pressure of knife point left my throat, and the taller man took a couple steps closer to me. “Don’t even think about making a run for it,” he said as though reading my mind, as he waved a gun half-heartedly in my direction. Under the dim yellow light of the streetlamp, he looked gaunt, like he hadn’t slept well in days. He was wearing a scowl that made him look young. His shoulders were hunched against the cold, and I saw that there was a dark, wet stain on of his sleeves. “You’re injured,” I said. “My trigger finger is just fine,” he replied brusquely, “take off your coat.” 

The buzz of alcohol was clearing up, and it started to seem like a bad idea to test someone holding me at gunpoint, even if he scowled like an overgrown teenager. I sighed relenting and took off my jacket – a present from Mr Garavani himself. All I had on underneath was a thin white silk shirt with sheer panels of organza, and skin-tight black leather pants. I started shivering the moment I took off my coat. His eyes widened a bit as he took in the sight. Then suddenly self-conscious that he was staring at me, he looked away and shifted awkwardly on his feet. With his free hand, he dug into his jeans pocket and produced two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. He thrust them towards me and hastily turned away. “Wait, your arm..” I began to protest. But he turned a corner and disappeared into the night, along with his small companion who was still on the phone, before I could decide if it was a completely stupid for me to be concerned about the well being of someone who had just mugged me. He left me cabfare so I wouldn’t be left freezing in the cold, I reasoned to an empty beer can on the street.


End file.
